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| Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, The Ordination.
To think upon our Zion; “For sense they little owe to frugal Heav'n- | And hing our nddles up to sleen. To please the mob they hide the little giv'n.” | Like baby-clouts a-dryin'. (42)
Come, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' cheap KILMARNOCK wabsters fidge and claw, And o'er the thairms be tryin'; And pour your creeshie nations;
Oh, rare! to see our elbucks wheep, And ye wha leather rax and draw,
And a' like lamb-tails flyin'
Fu' fast this day;
Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,
Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin',
As lately Fenwick, sair forfairn,
Has proven to its ruin :
Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, Curst Common Sense, that imp o' hell,
He saw mischief was brewin';
And like a godly elect bairn
He's wal'd us out a true ane,
And sound this day.
Now, Robertson (49), harangue nae mair He'll clap a shangan on her fail,
But steek your gab for ever:
Or try the wicked town of Ayr,
For there they'll think you clever;
Or, nae reflection on your lear, And lilt wi' holy clangor;
Ye may commence a shaver ;
Or to the Netherton (50) repair,
And turn a carpet-weaver
Atf-hand this day. Nae mair the kilaves shall wrang her,
Mutrie (51) and you were just a match, For Heresy is in her pow'r,
We never had sic twa drones : And gloriously she'll whang her
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, Wi' pith this day. Come, let a proper text be read.
And aye he catched the tither wretch, And touch it aff wi' vigour,
To fry them in his caudrons : How graceless Ham (46) leugh at his dad,
| But now his honour maun detach, Which made Canaan a nigger;
Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, Or Phineas (47) drove the murdering blade,
Fast, fast this day. Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour;
See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes Or Zipporah (48), the scauldin' jad,
She's swingein through the city; Was like a bluidy tiger
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! l'th' inn that day.
I vow it's unco pretty : There, try his mettle on the creed,
There, Learning, with his Greekish face, And bind him down wi' caution,
Grunts out some Latin ditty, That stipend is a carnal weed
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, He taks but for the fashion;
To mak to Jamie Beattie (52) And gie him o'er the flock, to feed,
Her plant this day. And punish each transgression;
But there's Morality himsel', Especial, rams that cross the breed,
Embracing all opinions ;
Hear, how he gies the tither yell,
Between his twa companions ;
See, how she peels the skin and fell, And toss thy horns fu' canty;
As ane were peelin' onions! Nae mair thou’lt rowte out-owre the dale,
Now there--they're packed aff to hell, Because thy pasture's scanty;
And banish'd our dominions, For lapfu's large o' gospel kail
Henceforth this day. Shall fill thy crib in plenty,
Oh, happy day! rejoice, rejoice ! And runts o' grace the pick and wale,
Come bouse about the porter!
Morality's demure decoys
Shall here nae mair find quarter:
M— -, Russell, are the boys,
This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, That Heresy can torture:
To try my fate in guid black prent; They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,
But still the mair I'm that way bent, And cowe her measure shorter
Something cries “ Hoolie! By th' head some day. I red you, honest man, tak tent! Come, bring the tither mutchkin in,
Ye'll shaw your folly. And here's, for a conclusion,
There's ither poets much your betters, To every New Light (53) mother's son, Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, From this time forth, Confusion :
Hae thought they had ensur'd their If mair they deave us wi' their din,
debtors Or Patronage intrusion,
A’ future ages; We'll light a spunk, and every skin
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, We'll rin them aff in fusion,
Their unknown pages.”
Then farewell hopes o' laurel-boughs,
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs
Are whistling thrang, « Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul! | And teach the lanely heights and howes Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!
My rustic sang. I owe thee much!”-BLAIR.
I'll wander on, with tentless heed DEAR Smith, the slee'est, paukie thief,
How never-halting monients speed, That e'er attempted stealth or rief,
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread;
Then, all unknown,
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead,
Forgot and gone!
But why o' death begin a tale ?
Just now we're living sound and hale, And ev'ry star that blinks aboon,
Then top and maintop crowd the sail, Ye've cost me twenty pair o'shoon
Heave care o'er side!
Let's tak the tide.
This life, sae far's I understand,
Is a' enchanted fairy land,
That, wielded right,
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, And in her freaks, on every feature
Dance by fu’ light.
The magic wand then let us wield;
For, ance that five-and-forty's speeld, My barmie noddle's working prime,
See, crazy, weary, joyless eild,
Wi' wrinki'd face,
Comes hostin', hirplin' owre the field,
Wi' creepin' pace.
When ance life's day draws near the
· gloamin', Some rhyme (vain thought) for needfu’
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin'; cash;
And fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin', Some rhyme to court the country clash, And raise a din;
And social noise ;
And fareweel dear, deluding woman!
The joy of joys!
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning!
We frisk away, Has blest me wi' a random shot
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning, O' countra wit.
To joy and play.
THE JOLLY BEGGARS.
119 We wander there, we wander here, | I jouk beneath misfortune's blows We eye the rose upon the brier,
As weel's I may:
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose,
I rhyme away.
Oh ye douce folk, that live by rule,
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool,
Compar'd wi' you-oh fool! fool! fool! For which they never toil'd or swat;
How much unlike; They drink the sweet and eat the fat, Your heart's are just a standing pool, But care or pain ;
Your lives a dyke!
Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental traces,
In your unletter'd nameless faces!
Ye never stray,
Ye hum away. Then cannie, in some cozie place,
Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise;
Nae ferly tho’ye do despise
The rattling squad :
I see you upward cast your eyes
-Ye ken the road. Till curst with age, obscure and starvin,' Whilst I_but I shall haud me there They aften groan.
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where Alas! what bitter toil and straining
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, But truce with peevish, poor complaining !
But quat my sang, Is fortune's fickle Luna waning?
| Content wi' you to mak a pair, : E'en let her gang!
Whare'er I gang. Beneath what light she has remaining,
Let's sing our sang. My pen I here fling to the door,
The Inlly Beggars.- 1 Cantata. (55) And kneel, “Ye Pow'rs,” and warm implore, “ Tho' I should wander terra o'er,
WHEN lyart leaves bestrew the yird, Grant me but this, I ask no more,
Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast;
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte Till icicles hing frae their beards;
And infant frosts begin to bite,
In hoary cranreuch drest;
Ae night at e'en a merry core
O'randie, gangrel bodies,
In Poosie Nancy's held the splore,
To drink their orra duddies :
Wi' quatting and laughing,
They ranted and they sang;
Wi' jumping and thumping,
The vera girdle rang.
First, neist the fire, in auld red rags,
Ane sait weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, While ye are pleased to keep me hale,
And knapsack a' in order;
His doxy lay within his arm,
Wi' usquebae and blankets warm
She blinket on her sodger:
And aye he gies the tozie drab
The tither skelpin' kiss,
While she held up her greedy gab Behint my lug or by my nose;
Just like an aumos dish. (56)
Ilk smack still, did crack still, | Some one of a troop of dragoons was my
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, AIR.
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; TUNE-Soldiers' Joy.
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so I am a son of Mars, who have been in many ruddy, wars,
Scome; | Transported I was with my sodger laddie. And show my cuts and scars wherever I
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. This here was for a wench, and that other in But the godly old chaplain left him in the a trench, (the drum. lurch,
church; When welcoming the French at the sound of
The sword I forsook for the sake of the Lal de daudle, &c.
He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the bodyMy 'prenticeship I past where my leader 'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. breath'd his last, [of Abram (57);
Sing, Lal, de lal, &c. When the bloody die was cast on the heights (Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, I served out my trade when the gallant game | The regiment at large for a husband I got; was play'd,
(sound of the drum. From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was And the Morro (58) low was laid at the ready,
Lal, de daudle, &c. I asked no more but a sodger laddie I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating
Sing, Lal, de lal, &c. batt'ries (59),
[limb; But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, And there I left for witness an arm and a Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair; Yet let niy country need me, with Elliot (60) His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, to head me,
[drum. | My heart it rejoic'd at a sodyer laddie. I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. Lal de daudle, &c.
l And now I have liv'd I know not how long And now tho’I must beg with a wooden arm And still I can join in a cup and a sony : and ley
[bum. But whilst with both hands I can hold the And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my glass steady, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. my callet,
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. As when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. Lal de daudle, &c.
RECITATIVO. What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk, winter shocks,
Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother
Between themselves they were sae busy: bottle tell,
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy, I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of
}ie stoiter'd up and made a face; Lal de daudle, &c.
'd, and laid a smack on Grizzie,
Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace, RECITATIVO,
AIR. He ended; and the kebars sheuk,
TUNE—Auld Sir Symon. Aboon the chorus roar;
Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, While frighted rattons backward leuk.
Sir Knave is a fool in a session : And seek the benmost bore;
IIe's there but a 'prentice I trow, A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,
But I am a fool by profession. He skirl d out“ Encore !'
My grannie she bought me a beuk, But up arose the martial chuck,
And I held awa to the school; And laid the loud uproar.
I fear I my talent misteuk,
But what will ye hae of a fool ?
For drink I would venture my neck,
A hizzie's the half o’iny craft, I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, But what could ye other expect, And still my delight is in proper young men; Of ane that's avowedly daft?
THE JOLLY BEGGARS.
| My curse upon them every one,
Sing, hey, &c.
Sing, hey, &c.
I ance was tied up like a stirk;
For civilly swearing and quaffin'; I ance was abus'd in the kirk,
For touzling a lass i' my daffin. Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
Let n'aebody name wi' a jeer; There's ev'n, I'm taught, i' the court
A tumbler ca'd the premier. Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad
Maks faces to tickle the mob; He rails at our mountebank squad
It's rivalship just i' the job. And now my conclusion I'll tell,
For faith I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel',
Gude L-d! he's far dafter than I.
RECITATIVO. A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle. Wha us'd at trysts and fairs to driddle, Her strappin' limb, and gaucy middle
(He reach'd na higher) Had hold his heartie like a riddle,
And blawn't on fire. Wi' hand on haunch, and upward e'e He croon'd his gamut, one, two, thrce, Theu in an arioso key,
The wee Apollo Set off wi' allegretto glee
His giga solo.
AIR. TUNE-Whistle oe'r the lave o't. Let me ryke up to dight that tear, And go wi’ me and be my dear, And then you every care and tear May whistle owre the lave o't.
Was match for my John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, And liv'd like lords and ladies gay; For a Lawland face he feared none, My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.
Sing, hey, &c.
Was whistle owre the lave o't.
I am, &c. Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, And sun oursells about the dyke, And at our leisure, when ye like, We'll whistle ow're the lave o't.
I am, &c. But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle hair on thairnis, Hunger, cauld, and a sic harms.
May whistle ow're the lave o't.
RECITATIVO. Her charms had struck a sturdy caird.
As weel as poor gut-scraper; He taks the fiddler by the beard,
And draws a roosty rapier